


Sugar and Spice

by LadyFangs



Category: AU - Fandom, X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Action, Adventure, F/M, Romance, Xmen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:35:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFangs/pseuds/LadyFangs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one could ever consider him a hero. She damn sure wasn't a damsel in distress. But together they were better than either thought possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Sugar and Spice**

 **By AquaSoulSis aka LadyFangs**

Fucking skinny bitches made his cock sore. It was like bangin a got-damned skeleton, all bones, no meat. Shit Even the pussy was dry—rubbed his cock raw. And while some pain he did enjoy, _that_ wasn’t his particular brand. It didn’t help much that he was sittin’ in a dingy, smoke-filled bar scoutin’ for ass and all he was comin’ up with (or, were comin’ on to him) were skinny bitches.

And not even the slim kind of skinny that was more muscle than fat and still worth a good bounce, nah, not even that. What he was lookin’ at right now was that sick kind of skinny, that mal-nourished shit that was nowadays passing for “healthy” and had little girls goin’ bulimic.

This was the kind of moment that made him miss the old days. Back when women were real—real tits, slightly thick around the middle, wide hips--- the kind of shit to make a man’s dick go hard and stay hard day in and day out.

Victor wrapped his large hand around the cup that had magically refilled itself with dark brown whisky in front of him. His thick, black claws chinked against the glass as he raised it and downed the fiery liquid in a single gulp, slamming the glass back down and sending it sliding back down the bar top for another.

He turned around on the stool to get a better look at his surroundings, fishing around in the pocket of his coat and pulling out a long thick cigar. He brought it to his lips, lit it and took a long drag, the smoke temporarily clouding his immediate line of sight.

A slender figure with a tiny skirt walked by in front of him, throwing a smile his way as she balanced a tray of drinks on one hand.

His cock twitched a reminder of his present situation.

Not bad, that one. But he could smell the youth on her.

Victor was many things. Mass murderer, expert thief, computer hacker, heartless, cold blooded bastard…but pedophile wasn’t in his repertoire of crimes. No one could accuse him of moral behavior by any means…but shit if there wasn’t honor among thieves.

Tiring of his present situation quickly, he rose from the bar, threw down a few bucks, downed the refilled glass of whisky that had appeared and pushed through the door to the exit. There was a strip-joint across town. At least the view was better there.

.

.

She had found this place three weeks ago, by chance.  Actually she’d been following her mark, a heavy-set, balding guy with a bad comb-over and a very expensive suit.

The instructions she’d received had been simple. Take him out, no mess.  The hiring agent hadn’t been disclosed and the entire transaction had gone through a third-party vendor. Someone wanted this guy dead a whole lot, and judging by how much she was making off the job and the amount of effort made to conceal the payer’s identity, “mini-Trump” as she’d come to call him, had pissed off the wrong person.

She’d told her contact it would take at least two months to get the kill. Sure, she could do it quick and dirty, but they had wanted discretion. And that required a little more work. So, she’d set about studying her target. Cataloguing his daily routine, staking out his business, his house, his comings and goings. She followed him everywhere, even when he went across county on “business trips”.

That was his excuse for the frequent visits to the strip clubs.

His favorite place was New York’s Gold Room. He was a regular on Sunday nights—an odd time, but once she’d done a little more digging, she’d discovered was the optimal time for loaded pockets to get their jollies.

Sunday nights brought out the power players, New York’s business and political elite and out-of-towners who wanted to get their rocks off in a high-class place with a code of silence.

The owner had taken one look at her, his eyes skimming across the tight shirt with two buttons undone and hip hugging pencil skirt and Alexander McQueen pumps—and had hired her. After all the patrons were VERY particular.

She didn’t have to take her clothes all the way off—unless, of course, her john paid extra. And she could pick and choose who, when and if. Each customer had his own particular kink.

Most of the time, they couldn’t even get it up and preferred the domination side of the tricks.

In her two weeks at the club, she’d spanked, strapped, tied and teased. All the while watching and waiting on her mark.

Now, as she pulled herself up the pole and flipped upside down, holding herself up by her legs, she looked out across the crowd of suits and saw him—her mark, watching her intently, that hungry look in his eyes.

 She slid down the pole and onto the stage, opening her legs into a split before slowly winding her body back up—the heavy bass thumping around her driving her movements.

She could feel his eyes on her and licked her lips as she added an additional switch of her hips, finishing off her set to a flourish of applause.

Tonight was payday.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Sugar and Spice**

 **Chapter 2**

He was under-dressed for the crowd but he didn’t really give a fuck. In places like these, only one thing spoke—green. And he had it to spare, and right now, there was somethin’ in his sights that he was definitely ready and willing to pay for.

 He grabbed a seat in the back of the club, in the shadows and watched the crowd. Bunch of fat, yuppie types—easy guttin’ he knew from experience. These were the kind of humans he hated. They were worse than the druggies and the whores—he understood _them_ , partly because he understood their lives. The cast of suits he was presently in the company of had one thing in common-- greed. They lived by it, and they often died by it, and one thing that always gave him satisfaction was the fact that most of them died by HIS hand. Chalk it up to that psycho babble shit Stryker’s head shrink used to go on about.

He’d been in for about an hour, watching the dancers closely, he was in sniffing distance of them—literally, and one by one, as they came and went, he dismissed them.

The pickin’s were better here, but the pussy…fuck if it wasn’t all the same. Those big tits, smooth bellies and round asses—he should have known his wasn’t the only nose looking to get up in em. Judging by the smells coming off ‘em… the stench of stale sweat and semen…he wouldn’t be the first of the night—and he’d be damned if he took anyone’s leavings.

Couple of the waitresses had been over, steadily refilling his classes, and one had been so bold as to scoot close and slip a hand down the inside of his thigh. It had taken an exorbitant amount of control not to break the frail’s hand. He’d growled low in his thought as he caught her fingers, extending his claws to dig in. She’d let out a yelp, her eyes getting wide and for the first time that evening he smelled a scent he actually liked…fear…mixing again with the stench of stale pussy. No other waitress had come near him since then. But it didn’t matter.

A low murmur of appreciation brought his attention back to the stage and broke him out of his contempt for the present company.

Damn.

He watched her shimmy up the pole, flip and hold on by her legs.

His cock jumped in his pants, and he took the moment to readjust himself.

The way she wound her body down the shimmering steel made nasty thoughts of her bounding on his pole jump to the front of his mind. And when she hit a split on the stage, legs spread wide, he’d started having visions of himself pumping between them.

And he was even close enough to catch a whiff…and smiled lasciviously when he realized it was nice and clean. The pupils of his eyes dilated in the dim light, growing into large, dark orbs as he drank in her form.

A little on the short side, slim…with a full ass, hips and bouncy tits…firm flat  stomach…clean pussy…

Sabertooth licked his lips and rose from the shadows, walking slowly, and deliberately toward his target, watching as she winked at some john in the crowd and slipped backstage.

Oh no. He didn’t do seconds—he’d be the first. ‘Sides…it had been at least 24 hours since his last kill. His claws itched.

 **.**

 **.**

 The Gold Room actually featured several smaller rooms in addition to the main floor. They were all in the back—in case the club got busted by the cops, and only the clubs high rolling patrons and the girl’s “special clients” knew pass codes to get in them.

She’d already given her john the signal and knew he would be making his way to her soon—Per club directions the encounters were always monitored, the dancers given about 10 minutes to “spruce up”, and she used the time to refresh her makeup and change costumes. She’d worn practically nothing on stage—just a nude g-string that blended with her skin and matching “bra” (if it could be called that) with nothing but strings and two triangles that covered her nipples.

 It took a lot to maintain this body. Hell, she liked to show it off sometime.

The new ensemble was different. Shiny black leather, laced with mental chains…thigh high boots… she smiled to herself and looked into the mirror.

Reaching down, she pulled the long, thick, braided object between her fingers.

Whips and chains. She had to laugh at the campiness of it all. Poor guy would have a heart attack. Literally.

 **.**

 **.**

He followed in the shadows as she made her way down a long corridor— and he had to admit—he liked her new “ensemble”. The better to rip off her in a minute. He knew for a fact these doors were soundproof—which meant he could have his way for as long as he wanted to. She stopped at a door on the far end and, seeming to sense him, paused a moment, looking his way. He dipped into a shadow and watched closely as she turned back to the wall and quickly punched a key pad mounted on the side of the door. He watched her fingers, and smiled as the door slid open, closed behind her. He decided to employ the element of surprise, and waited for two minutes, before, walking slowly down the hall toward her door, his claws fully extended and tapping against the walls.

 **.**

 **.**

This was the part of the job she hated. Direct contact. Ugh. She cracked her whip and began a slow glide to the round, satin covered bed in the middle of the room, where her john waited.

“Strip.” She demanded, stopping just out of his reach and lifting a leg to place on the bed, cracking the whip to emphasize her point.

She waited expectantly has his eyes grew wide and he licked his lips and clumsily started working at the buttons on his shirt.

Shit…at this rate, she’d be here a while, and really, all she needed to do was close in on the kill, but for some reason…it just didn’t _feel_ right. She needed to get this over and done with quickly.

He was still fumbling with the buttons on his shirt when she dropped the whip and jumped on him, knocking him backward onto the soft cushions of the bed. Her legs straddled him as she ripped the shirt off and started working on his pants.

“Oh yes, mistress…” he wheezed out, closing his eyes as she pulled his pants and around his ankles, revealing a smallish bump under the tight, white briefs he wore.

He had fat, hairy thighs and looked wholly unappetizing and she stifled her shudder of disgust with a fake, sugary-sweet smile.

“Do you want me, baby?” she whispered, pulling him back up to a sitting position and burying his face between her breasts.

“Yes mistress…”

She slid her arms around his neck, then his chest…listening for just the right moment…searching for just the right spot…

Closing her eyes, and moving her hips to keep him distracted she focused…and…

A bolt of energy surged up her spine and through her arm, still hovering on his heart as she pushed it out through her skin and straight into him. His eyes went wide with shock and just as he let out a scream, she heard a soft whir, followed by the swoosh of the door opening.

She didn’t even have a chance to move off the now dead body before a rush of air breezed past her and she up and flying across the room—her back slamming against the wall as the door closed again.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Sugar and Spice**

 **Chapter 3**

When he came through the door she was on that fat fucker’s lap and he saw red. He lunged across the room, throwing her off the man as his fat body slumped onto the ground in a crumpled heap. Dead.

She quickly got to her feet and tried to dash to the door, but his larger frame blocked it and he smiled down at her, showing a row of perfect white teeth with two extremely long…

“Here pretty, pretty…” he baited, looking to see what her next move would be. The stunt she’d pulled on the fat guy wasn’t half bad and now that he knew she was a mutant, he wanted to have some fun—see what else she could do.

She didn’t disappoint him.

He went to grab her and she immediately went slack in his arms forcing his grip loose, and just before he turned he heard a cracking sound, followed by a stinging pain across his back that made him flash-back to when such a thing had been all too real and common place. At the sensation and the sound the fragile grip he still had on reality snapped, and he wasn’t interested in sex any longer—he wanted something more…satisfying.

With a roar he turned and lunged for her again, pushing her down onto the floor, and he hissed at her, savoring the sweet smell of fear as it rolled off her skin.

She closed her eyes as he raised his fist figuring she was just accepting death but just as he brought his hand down to slash her throat, he saw a blinding white light, followed by the sensation of warm hands on the side of his face—he let out a scream as his mind felt like it was tearing apart before everything went black.

 **.**

 **.**

Great. Just fucking great. Now what the hell was she supposed to do? She looked to the two bodies now crumpled at her feet, giving the bigger one a swift kick as she stepped gingerly over the other, wincing slightly at the pain in her back and hip from when she’d hit the wall, and the scratches. There’d be bruises in the morning too.

She didn’t know who the bigger man was, but somehow, he’d gotten in, caught her in the middle of the act and…

And what?

She didn’t know what he wanted from her.  A fight? He’d certainly gotten that.  She didn’t think the two men were related. She’d been careful. Her john hadn’t had a bodyguard.  And she would have definitely noticed someone like _him_ \-- a mutant bodyguard.

A simple job had just become far more complex. For one, she could easily explain the fat guy—and she’d already had that mapped out—heart attack in the middle of freaky sex. No one would blink twice at that one. And since she could cry at will and look slightly traumatized, she knew she’d get away with it. She’d given these people fake ID’s fake address, fake socials, hell…she’d even donned fake finger prints so NOTHING would be traced back to her.

But the emergence of the other man made everything ten times more difficult. And how the fuck was she supposed to get out this room leaving two dead bodies?

A groan startled her out of her musings and she cast a wary eye down to the ground, letting out a gasp at the sight of the larger man _moving._

It was impossible. She’d hit him with enough energy to down an elephant. How...?

Fuck thinking about it.

She moved quickly to the door, keeping one eye on the slowly-waking man as the door swooshed open and she eased out into the hall, moving quickly to grab her shit and leave.

An easy job had just become very, very messy.

 **.**

 **.**

He came back to consciousness, disoriented and groggy. One large hand grabbed the wall to stabilize his still swaying body. This must be what drunkenness felt like, if he could ever get drunk enough to feel it.

Victor closed his eyes blocking out the spinning red walls, before re-opening them.

Finally, it looked normal, except for the pant-less dead guy still on the floor.

He inhaled and scrunched his nose up at the foul smell of human excrement hit him. Yeah. That guy was definitely dead.

He groaned and gave a twist of his head, cracking his neck before glancing down at his watch. He’d been out for about 45 minutes, which meant he needed to be making an escape soon. It was about time for someone to come looking. As he walked to the door and stepped across the body, a whiff of something sweet and perfumed caught his attention—the woman.

She’d done something to him. It gave him a good buzz. His brain was still tingling and something felt…different. It took him a moment to realize what it was. That… _need_ he felt…the always present red-tinge in his eyes…it wasn’t there anymore. He felt…better. The beast was sleeping. Whatever she did, he’d get to the bottom of it.

He wanted—no _needed_ to find her. Figure out what she did.

Victor was outside the club and following his nose down the sidewalk when the wail of high-pitched sirens and streaks of red, white and blue lights whizzed past him in the direction of the Gold Room.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Sugar and Spice**

 **Chapter  4**

She made it back to her hotel and was hurriedly packing up her belongings when her bedroom door burst open.

She was still riding off an adrenaline high and spun around with her gun drawn only to have it swatted out of her hand. Before she could even open her mouth to scream, a hot heavy hand covered it and she was pulled by her arm up and off the ground and forced into the door—which closed at the impact of her back against it.

She tried to raise her hands against him but he pinned her, this time with his body, jerking her hands above her head and holding them with one of his. His other hand was still around her mouth.

“Shh… I ain’t gonna hurt ya if ya don’t scream.”

His voice was low, coming out more as a rumble and seeing the precariousness of her position she had no choice but to comply. It was either yell and draw unneeded attention and get killed, or stay quiet and possibly get killed. Her eyes were wide open, looking into his, pale blue ones and she closed them quickly, to try and get a measure…searching searching…she sensed…, curiosity and something else. Before she could get an idea of what that something was, a wall shot up between her thoughts and his and she opened her eyes again, shocked that he’d managed to lock her out. That was a first. He was still staring at her, this time his head cocked to the side, watching her intently with a smirk.

“I’m gonna remove my hand. If you scream, or try to run, I WILL find you. And I WILL kill you. Understand, frail?”

She murmured  “yes”  into his hand and he removed it from her mouth. She inhaled, trying to catch her breath a bit.

He still didn’t remove his other hand from around her wrists and kept her body pinned to the wall as he continued to talk.

“What did you do to me?” He asked calmly.

“I _thought_ I killed you,” she retorted, pissed with herself for being at the mercy of lord-only knew who. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for her gun and of some way to get to it.

Seeing where her eyes were traveling, he chuckled a bit.

“If yer sonic blast didn’t do it…ya honestly think your gun would?”

“Let me go and let’s try it.” She was defiant now. He was playing with her, and she couldn’t stand it. All her life people had treated her like a naïve child and she really couldn’t stand another man patronizing her.

He looked at her a moment, seeing the fire behind those big blue eyes, and the devil in him just couldn’t resist. He let go of her hands and took a step back, letting her fall to the floor.

 She quickly rolled out of his grasp, grabbed her gun and shot.

The silencer on the barrel muzzled the bang as the bullet whizzed through the air and shot straight through his heart. He felt the usual burst of pain and anticipated the darkness that always came with a death-shot as he slumped to the ground.

Seeing the black-clad figure hit the ground, she waited to see if he was breathing. After a moment’s hesitation, she rose and walked toward him, peering down at his slumped form.

The claws on his hands were still very much exposed and she suppressed a shudder at the sheer size of them, long and dark, and, raising one hand to her neck to touch the swollen red welts that had started to appear—sharp.

“Boo.”

He jumped up, catching her by the ankles and bringing her down to the floor before pouncing on top of her, his weight pressing down on her chest so that she could barely breathe.

“Satisfied? That actually hurt a bit.” There was blood on his bottom lip and his teeth were now slightly stained.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered out, for the first time, genuinely afraid of what he might do.

Rising off her, he walked away and moved to settle his bulk in the sofa chair next to the bed.

Instead of answering her immediately, he licked his lips and wiped the back of his mouth on his hand.

“Let’s start with your power. You zapped me. Then you tried to get in my head.”

He didn’t sound angry, and those piercing eyes were once again focused on her.

“I’m a telepath. I can influence most people’s thoughts…I can…project my energy into a person…” she said, softly, taking a seat on the floor across the room from him, her back against the wall.

“That’s how you killed that john. Heart attack,” he mused thoughtfully, more to himself than to her.

“Yeah.”

“How much did you get paid for the job?”

She opened her mouth to rebuke him for the insinuation then realized to what he was referring.

“My client paid me 35-thousand to take him out.”

He was relaxed now, and had thrown his dirt, boot-clad feet on the bed, leaning back in the sofa chair cushions, chuckling to himself.

“You’d make more sellin’ that sweet ass of yours.”

At that comment, she bristled, and jumped up, about to tell him off when he rose and walked toward her and she realized, no matter her own sizeable skills, she couldn’t take him in a fight—she only rose to the middle of his chest.

“Yer sexy, with a smart mouth. Too high class to sell it. So I know you ain’t no whore. You’re an assassin. A pretty decent one. But I want to make you an offer. So go ahead, and name your price.”

For the first time in their encounter, he wasn’t slamming her against a wall and she studied him, judging his serious. The mental wall she’d felt earlier dipped slightly and she could sense he was being serious.

 Folding her arms across her chest she looked at him.

“You can’t afford me.”

“I said, name your price.”

“How long’s the job?”

“Indefinitely.”

Hm… she did about 10 jobs a year, more or less…the average price was about 10-thousand each…minus, this specialty case…

“500-grand.”

He looked at her, hard then.  “Try again, sweetness.”

“Fine. 300-thousand. With 50-grand upfront. Wired to an account that I designate.”

“Fine. Give me a phone and the number.”

She silently handed him her cell phone and his voice dropped to barely a decibel level, sounding more like a purr than actual words. After a moment he hung up, and she waited.

“Now, call your bank.”

He tossed the phone at her and she caught it. Turing from his view, she keyed in the password and her eyebrows rose.

She shut the phone and turned back to him, still skeptical.

“So. If we’re going to do this, I should at least know your name.”

“Victor. What’s yours?”

“Birdy. They call me, birdy.”

His lips parted in a smirk, revealing those sharp fangs once again.

“You know cats eat birds…and I can’t wait to see how you taste _._ ”

She shot him a hot glare. “I’m not your whore. Besides, _that_ ,  not even you can afford _._ ”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Sugar and Spice**

 **Chapter 5**

She was awakened by a hard shove to her shoulder followed by the impact of her head on something hard. The first words out of her mouth were a string of expletives as she jumped, glaring at the perpetrator. He merely laughed as the truck they were in pulled up to a stop in front of a tall, steel gate.

Birdy rubbed her forehead and swore to herself again as she looked up at her surroundings.

Twenty-four hours ago she’d been in a New York strip club, about to make a kill. That kill had ultimately gotten her a better-paying job, if a worse employer.

 Looking up at the tall, imposing wall of steel before them, she wondered, not for the first time, what had possessed her to say yes to his offer.

“We’re here,” that deep rumble again. As far as she could tell, he had two volumes: church mouse and amplifier.

“Where’s here?” she asked testily, as he stepped out of the truck and disappeared behind a shrub at the base of the gate. After a beat, the steel walls began to part and he returned, jumping back in the truck and slamming the door.

It sagged a bit under his weight as they drove through.

“Oh my…” she couldn’t get the word out as the walls gave way to a circular courtyard, with inlaid cobbled stones and a fountain in the center. Looming in front of them was an ivy-covered gray stone mansion, with carefully pruned and styled hedges in the front yard, its roof set in red-clay colored tiles.

Victor cast a side-glance at his companion and smirked at her gape-mouthed stare as they drove around the side of the house. Before them the ground began to part and soon they were driving underground.

 Birdy blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the sudden dimness and she realized—she was in an underground garage.

Cars, motorcycles, trucks—all styles, some modern and new, some old and…was that a Ford Model T in the corner?

The truck slid in to a vacant spot and cut off.

“Get out.” Victor moved to get out the truck and she followed, still in a bit of shock.

He reached in the pickup bed and grabbed his own duffle, and began moving down to the far side of the garage, leaving her and her suitcases still in the truck.

“Bring yer ass, Bird.” He didn’t even turn around as he walked through a door, his voice bouncing off the concrete walls.

.

.

The inside of the home was a blend of the rugged and the luxurious. It was obviously a man’s house—the oversized dark leather couches, and fur rugs (she had a sneaking suspicion those were very, very real) mixed with modern things, flat screen tv’s electronic kitchen gadgets… and even a library.

The last one surprised her. She hadn’t pegged him for the intellectual type.

“So, whose house is this?” she asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear him say it aloud.

Instead, he snorted and paused on the staircase. She looked up at him.

“Since yer here, and we didn’t break in, put that pretty little head of yours to use, woman.” He continued climbing and she followed him down a long hall with several closed doors. He stopped at one on the far end and opened it, walking in. She followed.

“This is where you sleep. When I call, you come. And don’t fuckin’ break nothin’ or I’ll take it out of yer pay…”  His look was impassive as he stared at her a moment, then a slow smirk spread over his lips, showing a hint of fang, letting his eyes roam up and down her figure. “… or, some other way.”

Victor turned to walk out the door, but Birdy, keeping her brave face on, couldn’t let him go without a quiet retort of her own. She didn’t think he’d hear her mutter under her breath.

“You do, and I’ll put your ass down for real, next time.”

Like a flash he turned around and, quicker than she could respond, lunged at her, grabbed her by the neck and raised her off the ground.

“You try that, _frail_ …and telepath or not…I’ll make sure the dogs find your body in pieces. We’re a long way from civilization…and I enjoy the sound of screamin’.”

He squeezed his hand tighter around her neck, letting her feel the bite of his claws. She cringed as the tips broke skin but kept her eyes defiantly on his, even as her face began to turn pink from the lack of oxygen. A tense silence fell between them before he hissed at her and threw her across the room. She bounced as she landed on the bed, then the floor.

The door slammed behind him and she could hear his heavy feet thumping down the hall as she lay on the floor, gasping for breath and cursing him to the highest rafters of the house and beyond.

.

.

 

Victor left her alone in her room and walked down the hall to his own suite, stepping in and sealing the door behind him.

He didn’t bother turning on any lights, instead shedding the heavy black coat and dropping it across the arm of the large recliner in a corner of the room.

He kicked off his shoes, and undid the buttons on his shirt, shedding clothes along the way as he walked into his bathroom. His bare feet met with the warmed marble tiles on the floor, contrasting with the coolness of the rest of the house. It had cost him a pretty penny to have the floor installed with the heaters, but he hadn’t regretted it. He didn’t like having cold feet.

Pressing a button on the side of the wall, he watched as the large whirlpool began to fill with water.

It would take a minute for the tub to fill up—all 80-inches of it. Yet another one of his many small “luxuries”. In fact, there were quite a few, like the house itself-- his private haven. He’d chosen it for the location—about 30 miles outside of Vancouver, nestled a mile from its tree-lined entrance, surrounded by a natural fortress with more than 60 acres where he could run, hunt,  and fish if he chose too.

He’d bought the house about 25 years ago, after more than a century and a half of bouncing from place to place, never staying in one spot very long. He’d actually stumbled upon the home after fleeing the States back to Canada after a particular mission had ended very, very badly.

The German excursion, and a woman. That had been what brought him back here. Back…home. Victor shook his head as if to physically shake off the thoughts, then settled his large frame down into the scalding hot water, turning the jets on low. His muscles began to relax from the gentle massaging and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the rim of the tub, silently congratulating himself for the foresight to get the biggest bathtub he could find. He stretched his legs out.

This place was his hideaway.

So why in the world had he brought _her_ here? He could have easily set her up somewhere downtown, kept her on a short leash and track her whereabouts at all times. His operatives were fairly reliable at those kinds of things. But he was still feeling the lingering effects of her mind-buzz, tempering his rasher reactions and this, he had to suppose, was what had made him invite her into his house without even so much as a background check.

He swore to himself before reaching a long arm out of the water and to the side of the tub, where a cell phone rested.

He dialed.

“Yyy..ello?”

He suppressed a scowl at the chipper voice on the other end of the line. “I need a background check. Quick. Name’s Birdy. Last gig—New York. Some fat, rich guy. Give me all you got. Oh, and Steve?  … I’m waiting.”

He didn’t wait for a response before hanging up.

Victor Creed had contacts. His _contacts_ had contacts. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he got what he needed. Then he could decide whether he wanted to keep his new pet, or get rid of her. A sigh escaped his lips as he dipped his head under the water.

His plans on gettin’ laid had gone to shit soon as she’d hit him with her “glow.” He rested under water, letting a hand slid down around his cock as he began to stroke, idly wondering if her sex would yield similar affects.

 


End file.
